She's Come Undone
by ellenedmund
Summary: What harm could a handful of pills do? A post-finale one-shot hypothetical.


"_She has something you don't._"

The comment whirled and crashed through her brain as she took in the end of Karen's performance from the peaceful isolation of the dressing rooms. As much as it galled her to admit it, he had been right. Karen had done it again: a from-behind, bases-loaded, grand slam. The perfect All-American hit for that guileless, little Mid-American girl.

God, she hated her.

Karen lived a charmed life; she could be handed a handful of rotting straw and turn it into bricks of gold overnight. And, worse, she didn't even know that she had the world bowing at her feet. She was so unworthy because she didn't put an ounce of effort into her success.

Ten years. It had been ten years of blood, sweat and tears on Broadway. She had worked the worst jobs with a perfectly bleached smile and a titanium voice. For what? So, that one day she could rise up and snag that lead? She'd almost had it in this show too. Several hours ago, she had tasted the ambrosia of success. Eileen, Tom, -even the often cold-hearted and self-absorbed Julia- were willing to hand her the position. It was _Derek_, her boyfriend and lover, who had stripped her of that raucous standing ovation that Karen fucking Cartwright was now receiving.

She looked at the handful of prescription pills in her hand. She knew she had a sensitivity to such things. Most people didn't have the same degree of reaction as she would have when taking medication. She never suffered just the common side effects.

She jiggled the bottle. The common side effects for Prednisone weren't terribly nice in and of themselves: difficulty sleeping; feeling a whirling motion; increased appetite (ha! Yes, she'd put on a pound or two); increased sweating; indigestion; mood changes and nervousness. It was like a hit list of what not to be dealing with while on-stage.

She had 13 pills left. Lucky number 13. She rolled them softly around her hand once and then laid them out on a program. Rebecca Duvall's ghoulish face was pandering as Marilyn on the front. What a joke that'd had been! She still couldn't believe that she'd been replaced in the show by that creature.

She grabbed her hairbrush. It was an old, wooden number: sturdy and well-worn along the handle. With a deliberate violence, she attacked those 13 pills. She pulverized them until a thin, white powered glittered and danced all around Rebecca Duvall.

She wasn't done yet. She dug through her purse and found a handful of Tylenol and a probably expired set of Benadryl. Why not? Better living through chemistry, right? She added them to the powdered Prednisone and continued to pulverize pills until the dust turned from a blinding white powder to a rather promising rainbow concoction.

Mixing medicine was never a good idea. The common side effects would often be heightened.

And, the heightened side effects for Prednisone were quite nasty. She knew this from experience, of course. Rashes. Hives. Difficulty Breathing (never mind singing!) and a tightness in the chest. Swelling...oh, god, swelling _everywhere._ Convulsions. Diarrhea. Personality changes. Prolonged sore throat.

It was a doom-cocktail for any Broadway star. Prednisone. You used it when you had absolutely no choice but you stayed clear if there were other options.

She could hear that the standing ovation was starting to thin out. She didn't have a lot of time left. She looked at the dressing table behind her and Karen's bag sat there. A quick shuffle through her things proved that she had the requisite water bottle. Singing made you thirsty. You'd be foolish not to be prepared. The water looked fresh and as she added the rainbow cocktail, she was amazed at how quickly the colors swirled about and disappeared.

A quick shake. And Karen's water bottle was back in her bag.

Rule #32 of taking pills. Never, never drink alcohol when taking prescription medicines. It made everything so much worse.

Ivy sat back and admired her reflection in the mirror. She'd buy the first drinks for the house at tonight's celebration. Karen wasn't likely to accept anything directly from her at this point but she'd have to show up to a cast party and make a good show of being pleased with her success.

One little drink couldn't hurt anyone, could it?

Better living through chemistry. Who said it had to be her taking the chemicals?


End file.
